Sweet Nothing
by Dracoqueen22
Summary: Mechs changed. And while Inferno promised to do so, Red Alert already had. (Red AlertxInferno, Red AlertxBluestreak)


a/n: This one's an experiment in writing technique, so to speak. I put on the mp3 player, hit shuffle and wrote to the first ten songs that popped up. Amazingly, they formed a complete story. I listed the songs used for reference. Special thanks to Lady Azar de Tameran for the beta-work. Enjoy!

**Title: Sweet Nothing**

**Universe: G1**

**Characters: Red Alert/Inferno, Red Alert/Bluestreak **

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: None (Angst and Fluff all at once)**

**Description: Mechs changed. And while Inferno promised to do so, Red Alert already had. **

* * *

"**Waiting Alone," Shiny Toy Guns**

He turned on the berth again, arm falling onto the empty side with a dull clatter. His chronometer taunted him, measuring how long he'd been lying online. Waiting.

Too long.

Red Alert pushed himself off the berth. His spark was a heavy weight of dismay in his chassis.

No more. This was the last time.

There was a crate under the berth. He knew because he put it there a month ago, the last time he'd considered leaving. He'd let Inferno convince him to stay then.

Inferno had promised to change.

And once upon a time, Megatron had promised to bring change, too. Not that they are one and the same, but such was the value of promises.

It ached in a way words couldn't qualify. But it had to be done.

Red Alert packed his personal belongings in silence. Everything else was shared amenities. What was his and his alone fit in the crate with room to spare, another aspect of sadness to add to the whole disappointment.

He did not leave a note. His reasons should already be obvious.

He left their shared quarters. A few corridors over and down the hall, another room had been prepared. Grapple had found the time to clear some rubble and make it habitable. It awaited Red Alert's residence. He had asked, a month ago, and it was still ready.

The lock was even keyed to his personal code. Even then, he had been asked to reconsider. Grapple had held optics full of pity and disbelief, asking if he was certain.

Red Alert hadn't been then, but he was now.

The room was barren and cold with only the bare minimum, the basic amenities. His crate sat on the desk, next to the offline monitor, as lonely as Red Alert felt.

At least, he consoled himself, this time it was by his own choice.

"**Seven Devils," Florence + the Machine**

First, came the apologies. The gifts, the pretty words, the public displays of adoration and remorse.

Red Alert remained stoic. He did not return to Inferno's arms, no matter how much his spark ached to do so. He accepted the apologies but kept his forgiveness. He returned the gifts and endured the displays.

He did not give into the promises, empty as they were, and ignored the looks that his fellows gave him. They did not understand. They tried to make him the villain for rebuffing Inferno's obvious regret. Some went so far as to offer him counsel, to offer to mediate. His refusal was not taken well.

Red Alert was used to ostracization. He endured.

Second came the anger. The bluster. The blame.

Red Alert worked too much, expected too much, and never gave an inch in return. He was cold-sparked and equally cold in the berth. He was _lucky_ Inferno so much as looked at him. He was high maintenance with zero return, and no one else would ever want him.

The words hurt. They were untrue, but they still hurt. Coming from a faceplate so familiar, a vocalizer once tuned to warm regard, they were as agonizing as a blastershot to the chassis.

Red Alert hadn't left for lack of love. His spark still spun for Inferno. He lay online when he should be recharging, pondering the ramifications of his decision. His berth remained cold; he never unpacked the crate.

He thought, once or twice, about returning. But this at least was his choice.

Sometimes, mechs changed. Sometimes, they didn't. Red Alert was sure this was a case of the latter. Promises had been made, so many before. Red Alert was tired of promises.

Then, came the surrender. The sulking defeat. The surety that Red Alert had made a mistake, that he would come crawling back. That Inferno was done, washing his hands so to speak.

Last came the silence, and Red Alert wasn't certain it was a relief.

"**Under the Sheets (Baby Monster Remix)," Ellie Goulding**

Their first encounter was fire and charge and a night of endless overloads. It was intense and processor-blowing.

Red Alert had never fried more circuits in his functioning.

Inferno was passion personified. He laughed and loved life, embraced it with a zeal unfamiliar to Red Alert in his quiet and cool corner of the planet. He cradled Red Alert in his hands as something to be both cherished and worshipped. He spat words of praise and seduction, optics sparkling with an inner delight.

Inferno was charming and handsome, and he swept into Red Alert's lonely life with the force of his namesake. He pulled Red Alert from a quiet existence, awakening him to things he never thought enjoyable.

Red Alert could no more resist than he could cease computing.

They were well-matched, complementary in all things.

They became a unit, never one without the other. Inseparable. Mechs recognized them together, always together.

Red Alert's spark pulsed for Inferno as it never did for any other. Yet, they never bonded.

Until now, Red Alert had not thought to question why.

"**Try," P!nk**

Red Alert never argued. Inferno threw words like weapons, but Red Alert never returned fire. It was easier then to concede.

A part of him felt as though Inferno were right. Perhaps he was to blame.

Cold berths and lonely nights felt like a punishment. He asked himself all too often what he should change. What he had done wrong. Clearly, the fault must be his own.

Red Alert wasn't sure when he started thinking differently. When the sadness turned to anger and the resignation to outrage.

He told himself he deserved more. He deserved better. He owed Inferno nothing. He shouldn't have to beg for a scrap of acknowledgment.

That was the day he went to Grapple about fixing up more of the wrecked rooms in the Ark. When he went to Wheeljack and asked for an empty supply crate. When he quietly informed Prime that he would need to change his security detail.

Red Alert knew he was worth more. And he was going to prove it.

"**Like Nobody Else," My Darkest Days**

Bluestreak brought him energon.

Red Alert thanked him, listened to the mech's chatter, and drank the cube.

Bluestreak was one of the few who didn't glare when Red Alert entered a room. He didn't treat Red Alert as persona non grata.

It was nice to listen to the mech prattle about nothing and everything. It was nice that Bluestreak didn't expect him to respond, didn't prod him to talk even though he had nothing to say. Red Alert could work, feel less alone, and not be obligated to come up with painfully inane conversation in return.

Bluestreak had a nice smile. His doorwings were as enthusiastic as the rest of him. Red Alert enjoyed watching them twitch and shift, perfect barometers for the young mech's mood. He expected Bluestreak to wander away, out of boredom if nothing else. Especially when Sideswipe popped his helm into ops, inviting Bluestreak to join in a video game tournament that the younger mechs were fond of playing.

Bluestreak declined, claiming he was fine here. That he was having fun.

Red Alert wasn't sure who was more surprised – himself or Sideswipe. The frontliner spluttered, gaped, shot Red Alert a dubious look, and left.

Red Alert asked him why he didn't go. Not that he wasn't enjoying the company.

Bluestreak smiled, shrugged, and pointed to the console in front of them. He asked what all the buttons were supposed to do because maybe he should know if there was ever an emergency. Or if Red Alert needed help. Or just because he liked to know things. Maybe, someday even, he could be more than a gunner.

It took Red Alert a full minute of shock before he could formulate an appropriate response.

Bluestreak listened. And more than that, Red Alert felt he was being heard.

"**Without You," My Darkest Days**

Bluestreak's hand was warm in his. Such a simple thing, their hands clasped, fingers intertwined. But it made something flutter in Red Alert's chassis nonetheless.

They hadn't kissed or interfaced or even shared berths.

Bluestreak wanted to take things slow. Red Alert's own emotions were still too raw and fragile. He didn't know if he could trust his own decisions.

Bluestreak understood.

Somehow, the conversations were more intimate than hours spent in the berth, for all that Bluestreak talked and Red Alert listened. Sitting in shared silence too wasn't uncomfortable. Red Alert had only to look and see Blue smile to know things were all right, that Bluestreak didn't feel he was being ignored.

Sometimes, Blue told him that silence was good, too.

It made Red Alert want to do the same.

Bluestreak confessed that he'd liked Red Alert for some time now. He expressed happiness at this opportunity and regret that it had come at the expense of Red Alert's broken spark. He wished he could make all the pain go away even though he knew it wasn't that simple.

He said that even if nothing came of it, he hoped to have brightened Red Alert's spark even just a little bit.

He only wanted to see Red Alert smile.

Something inside Red Alert had warmed with those words, some of the lingering ache easing into a dull throb.

Of course, Bluestreak had babbled on to say that he still hoped Red Alert liked him a little bit in return.

It was adorable.

Red Alert laughed.

"**Fireflies and Empty Skies," God is an Astronaut**

The dust settled. The battlefield was empty and abandoned.

The Ark was chaos. Red Alert watched it all, guarded everything and everyone, watching and waiting for Megatron's retaliation. If the Decepticons could manage to gather enough gumption for a second assault.

It didn't come. Red Alert thanked Primus for the respite. And then, he thanked Jazz for relieving him at his post, hours after the battle had been won.

He sought Blue without knowing entirely why. Despite his own exhaustion, he remembered that Bluestreak had been struck by a stray shot.

Bluestreak was nowhere Red Alert expected. Not the rec room, nor his quarters, nor the med bay nor with Sideswipe. The frontliner himself held vigilance over his severely damaged twin and a furiously working Ratchet.

He found Bluestreak outside, perched atop the Ark, where thrusters had rusted and decayed with time but provided a reasonably stable platform. Some of the mechs used it for stargazing. This late and after such a battle, it was abandoned. Save for Bluestreak.

He was staring up at the stars, static bandage wound around one arm. His frame carried evidence of battle, grime and soot and plasma discharge. Red Alert's own was pristine because he didn't leave the Ark.

He was never so conscious of that difference until now.

He sat down next to Bluestreak anyway, feeling the silence of the gunner settle around him like an uneasy cloak. He wondered if he should say anything, if such platitudes would even matter.

Bluestreak released a shuddering ex-vent and tilted a fraction, helm resting on Red Alert's shoulder. The glow of his optics vanished as he offlined them. His frame vibrated with tension, but his energy field settled into a warm purr, reaching out for Red Alert's own.

He said nothing. Neither did Red Alert.

The gratitude was obvious all the same.

"**Life in the Pain," Safety Suit**

The Autobots as a whole were a gaggle of gossiping old ladies. The crew was small, word got around, traveled faster than light in some occasions.

Inferno returned on figurative hands and knees, promises on his lipplates and pain in his optics. He confessed with staticky words how much he missed Red Alert. How much his functioning was grey. How he'd made so many mistakes, the worst of them in hurting Red.

He reminded Red Alert of the good times. He pulled Red Alert into those brawny, warm arms, his chassis rumbling in an achingly familiar bass.

He begged Red Alert not to throw away eons of a relationship. He swore on his spark that he had changed. His energy field radiated misery and remorse.

For a fraction of a moment, Red Alert was tempted.

Inferno had been his first, true friend. Intimacy had seemed to naturally follow. There had been so many good times. The memories weren't all painful.

But mechs changed. And while Inferno promised to do so, Red Alert already had.

He thought of Bluestreak, the open smile waiting for him, and Red Alert withdrew from Inferno's embrace. He looked Inferno in the optics and apologized. He would always love his best friend, but he was no longer _in_ love with Inferno.

His spark now stirred for another.

Red Alert didn't think he could ever forget the look on Inferno's face. Outrage and disappointment and sparkbreak and pain all at once, intertwined into a visible miasma that contorted his faceplates.

He had only himself to blame, Inferno admitted.

He took Red Alert's hand, pressed a single kiss to the palm, and then left. He watched Inferno go, etching the image into his processor.

It felt like closing a door on his past.

"**I Know You Care," Ellie Goulding**

Bluestreak brought him energon. He was subdued for once, doorwings drooping.

Yet, he smiled. It did not reach his optics and even Red Alert could tell the difference.

He congratulated Red, professed a hope for his happiness. His vocalizer spat static but Bluestreak soldiered on, doors flat against his back, as low as they could go.

He promised that if Inferno ever hurt him again, Bluestreak would never forgive the mech. He would make Inferno's life miserable because he knew how. Sideswipe was his best friend, after all. They could get quite creative.

Bluestreak said he was glad, that this was the way things ought to be. Red Alert and Inferno, the natural order of the universe.

He spoke all of these positive things, wishing for Red Alert's happiness, and yet couldn't hide the resigned disappointment in his energy field.

Gossip traveled so fragging fast. Sometimes, Red Alert hated it.

Red Alert set the energon aside, and for the first time, cut off Blue mid-ramble. He pulled the gunner into an embrace. Then he kissed him.

The young mech was rigid at first but quickly returned the affection. His arms came up around Red, almost crushing in his eagerness. His frame thrummed with delighted energy. Red Alert's sensors told him that Blue's doorwings were lifting from his frame, back to their usual tilt.

As they should be.

Red Alert cupped Bluestreak's face in his hands and told him the truth. That Inferno was his past. And that he wanted Bluestreak for his future.

Bluestreak's smile could have powered the Ark for a month.

Red Alert smiled, too.

"**The Sun," Shiny Toy Guns**

Red Alert turned over on the berth, and his arm smacked against another frame. His berthmate made a sleepy noise of protest, groped blindly and pulled Red Alert close again. He molded their frames together and nuzzled into Red's throat, ex-vents ghosting against sensitive lines.

Red Alert was going to overheat at this rate. He didn't mind, not really. He welcomed the closeness, and he knew that Bluestreak craved it, to chase away the demons.

His chronometer betrayed him. He had only a few precious minutes before he'd have to report for his shift, and Red Alert preferred to remain here in his berth for much longer than that. Bluestreak's arms were a welcome weight, his energy field a soft pulse of adoration and comfort.

Red Alert could not remember a time he felt so content. His spark was a happy hum in his chassis. His lines tingled, teased by Bluestreak's ex-vents.

Strange how it all turned out.

Red Alert wouldn't change it for the world.

* * *

a/n: Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I had such fun doing this one I might try and see if the muses will give me another. A writer can dream. :)


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